Keeping It Krill
by Lord Kristine
Summary: This is the story of Vivian Krill. This is how she learned what she knows. This is why she feels the way she feels. This is how it all began.
1. Childhood

Vivian and her mother are going to the grocery store. It's a real adventure. Vivian likes this kind of expedition, because she gets to ride in the shopping cart. She looks forward to it in her naïve, childlike way.

As soon as they enter the parking lot, Vivian leaps out of the car and runs up to the line of shopping carts, bouncing up and down eagerly. With a flat expression, her mother puts a coin into the first cart, releasing it from the others. She pulls on the chain, then remembers to put Vivian in the seat. She squeals with glee.

Once they are inside the grocery store, her mother starts piling cabbages, carrots, and kale into the cart. Vivian kicks her legs gently, gazing at her surroundings with awe. She enjoys the vibrant colors of the store, and is fascinated by the orderly appearance of the stacked produce. It's like a rainbow of consumer cubism.

As they make their way out of the vegetable section, the smell of water fades away. It is replaced by the cold, scentless aura of dairy. Vivian doesn't like this section as much, because it is mostly white, and not very colorful. Here, the organization feels more sterile. It's like a hospital. A hospital for cheese.

They then make their way to the pale brown world of baked goods. It sometimes smells fresh, but today it is stale. That's the problem with Wednesdays. Everything is old. Vivian eyes a pretty cupcake with a plastic horseshoe on top. It's blue, and blue is her favorite color this week. They move past it, and she soon forgets about her craving.

They make their way to the checkout. Vivian is fascinated by the rubber carpet that carries the food towards the plastic bags. It's almost magical, in a way. If only the world could be that simple. People would stand on moving sidewalks, never bumping into each other and always heading to the same place. It would be so _easy_. Vivian doesn't understand why people have to make things so complicated. Wouldn't it be better to go with the flow?

As she ponders this thought, her mother pays for their groceries and rolls the cart out the automatic doors. She pushes it into a stall outside and removes her bags. Heading for the car, she shakes her head in agitation, probably thinking about all of the chores she needs to do. Vivian sits patiently in the cart with her hands in her lap. She expects her mother to return, but to her surprise, her green minivan pulls out of the parking space and drives away. Undaunted, Vivian scoots into a more comfortable position. Maybe her mother is just playing a game.

Hours pass. Vivian is still in the cart. Every once in a while, someone will give her a curious look. She waves at the strangers pleasantly without saying a word. For the most part, people don't notice her. It's always been that way, ever since she can remember. She's just not one of those people that sticks out in a crowd.

By the time her mother's car returns, the sun is setting. Vivian is kind of hungry, and more than a little tired. She's relieved that the game is over. Now she can go home.

Her mother comes running up to her frantically, huffing and puffing like a fish out of water. Vivian reaches out, and her mother wraps her in a tight hug.

"Vivian! What the hell! You let me walk away! Why didn't you _say_ something?"

Vivian shrugs.

"I thought you knew what you were doing . . ."

Her mother sighs loudly, turning her eyes to the heavens.

"You were so quiet that I forgot you were there. Speak up next time, okay?"

Vivian smiles and nods.

"I will, Mommy."

Her mother exhales and lifts her out of the cart. Vivian's legs are very stiff from sitting all day. The car seat is much more comfortable, however, and soon, she feels herself dozing off. She stares out the window with exhaustion, feeling her eyelids droop heavily. Her mother looks at her through the rearview mirror with worry.

"Don't ever let me do that again. Okay, Viv?"

Vivian nods drowsily. Her mother taps her acrylic nails on the steering wheel and sniffs in agitation.

"I just don't understand it. Why are you always so quiet?"

"I'm watching, Mommy," Vivian replies.

"Watching what?"

"The world."

Her mother clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

"While you're busy watching the world, life will pass you by. You can't be an observer forever."

Vivian blinks.

"What am I _supposed_ to be?"

Her mother twists her mouth.

"Whatever you want to be, I guess."

Vivian pouts.

"Then why can't I just watch? Can't I choose _that_?"

Her mother groans.

"No, no. You have it all wrong! Listen, Vivian: life is not a spectator's game. You have to participate, and for the love of god, don't let people make stupid decisions if you can stop them. Adults make mistakes too, you know."

Vivian cocks her head.

"But why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you make mistakes?"

Her mother smiles.

"Nobody's perfect."

"Can't I be nothing automatically?"

Her mother frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"If I'm always watching, I can't make a mistake," Vivian explains.

Her mother shakes her head.

"Vivian, letting other people make mistakes is just as bad as making them yourself. Don't be a bystander. Be a hero."

Although Vivian is too young to understand this, she is absolutely certain that her mother is wrong. Being involved means putting oneself in danger, so logically, if a person just watches, they won't share the blame when things go wrong. What's the use of getting involved if it puts a person at risk? Vivian's reasoning is flawless.

Of course.


	2. Adolescence

Vivian is running for class president. How did this happen? It certainly wasn't _her_ decision. Her classmates nominated her, but only because they got her mixed up with Vicky Sanders. In any case, she has to prepare a speech. She was going to simply drop out, but her mother insisted that it was a good opportunity to interact with the scholar community, and besides, it's only second grade, so nobody really cares.

Vivian decides to write her speech with her favorite pen. It's purple, which is her favorite color this week. There is a fluffy mass of feathers on the end, like an old-fashioned quill. Well, maybe not a quill. It's more like if someone plucked a mauve version of Big Bird and stuck the feathers on a pen. In any case, it's really snazzy.

Vivian runs the fluffy pen over her lip pensively before writing.

 _Dear students,_

No, that sounds wrong. She isn't writing a letter to her babushka. This is serious.

 _My fellow classmates,_

Better. That sounds more political. She's like Abraham Lincoln without the beard.

 _I believe in freedom. I believe in America._

Perfect! It would bring a tear to anyone's eye.

 _We are all students, but what does that mean, exactly? Webster's Dictionary defines students as_

Maybe that's going too far. Vivian scribbles out her last line and thinks hard.

 _As students, it is our duty to defy the corporate machine._

Too wordy.

 _As students, it is our duty to make sure that we can take charge of our own destinies._

Too prophetic.

 _As students, we should be really, really nice to each other._

Perfection!

Vivian beams proudly and starts to write at a hurried pace. She's spouting ideas like a dragon spouts fire, ravaging injustice like medieval villages! Man, her metaphors are amazing! She's a natural-born author. Why didn't she think of this sooner?

The next day, however, when it comes time for the candidates to present their speeches, Vivian is not so confident. She would much rather listen to what her friends have to say than say anything herself. Even so, she worked all night on the speech, so the least she can do is read it to the class.

And read it, she does. By the time she's finished, she has the full attention of her peers. They stare at her with hanging jaws, their eyes wide with wonderment. For a moment, Vivian wonders if she's done poorly. Maybe she's misinterpreting their facial expressions, and they're actually horrified by her awfulness. She walks up to her teacher shyly and taps her arm.

"Ms. Smyth, did I do okay?" she whispers louder than she intended to.

Her teacher nods.

"Yes, sweetheart, you did fine. I mean, I don't agree with your policies on immigration, especially since this is a school government, but other than that, you hit a home run."

Vivian gives a happy little skip and squeals with joy.

"Super! Are we going to vote yet?"

Her teacher smiles.

"Of course! We just have to make sure-"

Suddenly, one of the candidates clears his throat.

"Ms. Smyth? I'm not quite done campaigning," he says.

The teacher blinks.

"What do you mean, Scott?"

He gives Vivian a quick glance. She suddenly feels very small.

"I was going to hand out candy," Scott announces.

Candy. Never has a single word elevated a person to the status of a king so spontaneously. Vivian feels her hard work melting away like a marble in hot lava. The children, of course, will vote for Scott. She can't compete with a bribe. Whatever chance she had is dead on arrival. She is going to be forgotten. She is going to be nothing.

Oh, wait! That was what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to be a spectator, nothing more. Only . . . Only now it feels different. She was actually kind of getting excited for this. She wanted . . . She _wanted_ to win. She poured her very soul into her speech, and now, she is going to be overshadowed by a bag of Tootsie Rolls.

As the children's greedy hands grab at the chocolate dream-crushers, Vivian feels her lip quivering. Time seems to slow down. The rustling of candy wrappers echoes through her mind like the crunching of fallen leaves, lying dead and forgotten beneath a sheet of white snow. With a heavy heart, Vivian turns to her teacher.

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

A few minutes later, Vivian locks herself in an empty stall and starts to cry. It's a quiet sound, punctuated with small hiccups and sniffles. She sounds like a hamster having a heart attack.

Eventually, two of her classmates come to check on her. They knock on the metal door shyly and shuffle their feet.

"Vivian?"

"Yes?" she squeaks, trying to sound calm.

"Are you coming back to class?"

"In a bit."

"The teacher wants to see you," the second girl says.

Vivian whimpers.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No. She wants to give you your badge."

Vivian frowns in confusion.

"What badge?"

"The one that says you're class president. You won."

Vivian's jaw drops. Did she hear correctly?

"I _won_?"

"Yeah. Of course. Your speech was the best."

Vivian blinks rapidly.

"But- But Scott brought candy-"

"Uh-huh. We took his candy and voted for you. That way, we get to have an awesome president _and_ Tootsie Rolls."

As soon as this sinks in, Vivian beams proudly.

"I- I won! . . . I _WON_!" she shouts.

She bursts out of the bathroom stall and returns to the class, victorious. Her eyes are still red from crying, but she doesn't care. She lets the teacher pin the president badge on her shirt and gives the class a huge smile. They smile right back, and Vivian feels like the most important person in the world.

Maybe this participation thing isn't so bad, after all.


	3. Youth

Vivian will always regret her actions on the fifth of June. She feels somewhat responsible for what happened, though she cannot confirm that this is the case. She will only remember the details in hindsight, but there is no proof that she is remembering correctly. The actual day is like a dream. No . . . it's more like a nightmare.

She packs her pink English binder in her rucksack before leaving the house. Pink is her favorite color this week. Of all the details she will remember, this one will be the most vivid. It's strange how that works. She will also remember getting into the car with her mother to go to school, but she might be fabricating the memory based on what she assumes must have happened. The brain has a way of creating a logical explanation for what occurred in the missing patches of memory. Vivian will forget many things, but she will always remember the accident.

Some details are forever lost to her. She will remember that she was arguing with her mother, but she won't remember what they were fighting about. It must have had something to do with school, because Vivian remembers saying that she gave up the chance to earn a degree in Anthropology to make her mother happy. She will remember this part of the conversation specifically, because it is the last thing she says before everything goes horribly wrong.

The crash happens in the blink of an eye. A pickup truck strikes them from the side, but Vivian doesn't know this. All she sees are spiraling colors. She can't make sense of it. A few seconds later, when the chaotic motion has stopped, she realizes that her eyes have been open for a long time, and she's staring through the broken windshield at what used to be the hood of the car. The slick, red metal is crumpled up like saggy skin. There is smoke, or maybe it's steam. Beyond that, there is shattered glass lying on the cement. It's bluish green.

As a trickle of red liquid slips past Vivian's eyebrow, she realizes that she must be injured. Oddly enough, she feels no pain whatsoever. Maybe she's in shock.

Although she knows that it is unsafe to move, she turns her head to look at her mother. She is horrified to see that her spiky, not-quite-purple hair is soaked with blood. The lenses of her glasses are both cracked. Her mouth is parted slightly.

With tears in her eyes, Vivian reaches out for her. She is starting to feel a stinging sensation from the shallow lacerations on her arm as her fluffy sweater slips up her skin. Ignoring it, she shakes her mother's shoulder gently. She does not respond. Vivian calls to her, at first very quietly, then louder and louder until she's practically screaming. The paramedics arrive.

In the hospital, Vivian is told that her mother is braindead. The doctor uses a fancier word, but that's the gist of it. It's like something out of a soap opera. Vivian's predicament is tragic enough already, but to make matters worse, she has a decision to make. She's the most direct relative of legal age. It's up to her to decide whether or not they pull the plug.

The doctor tells her to take as much time as she needs, but Vivian has already made her choice. She will not let her mother go this easily. As of now, the last conversation they shared was full of hatred and bitterness. That's not how she wants to be remembered. She loves her mother, and if there's even the slightest chance that she'll wake up, Vivian will not squander that opportunity.

There's a catch.

It's terribly expensive to keep her mother on life support. Since Vivian is in university, having a job is going to be very difficult. She tells herself that she can do it. Her dismal grades prove otherwise. She slips down the bell curve within a week. Even though she's barely passing her classes, Vivian does not stop working. She needs the money. She needs it badly. Every day, she gets a little better at balancing work and education. After three more years of intense commitment, she graduates with a 3.8 average and lands a job at a small law firm. Being a secretary isn't so bad . . . for now, at least.

Although Vivian is doing relatively well for herself, she is not happy. Her mother hasn't woken up. Everyone keeps saying that she never will. Vivian believes them, but there is still a part of her that wants to hold onto her last shred of hope.

And she does.

For months, Vivian saves every penny. She's much more successful now that she doesn't have school fees to pay. But the cost of her education has definitely left a mark on her savings account. Most of her money came from her wealthy babushka, who is currently living in a nursing home. She isn't mentally sound, but she provides financial support, which is infinitely useful when Vivian has trouble making ends meet. Unfortunately, she's very old, and Vivian isn't one hundred percent positive that she's drawn up a will. It might be wise to look into it so that she can profit from an inheritance.

Just when it seems like Vivian will have to exploit her poor babushka, she is offered a very high-paying job. It seems simple enough, and at first, Vivian wonders why the salary is so generous. Perhaps it has something to do with the location. Nobody wants to work in the middle of nowhere. Well, nobody except for Vivian. She needs this job. She needs it more than she needs anything else in the world.

That's why she buys a one-way ticket to Costa Rica.


	4. Womanhood

Although Vivian is not usually noticed by her coworkers, there is one person who notices her more than he notices anyone else at Jurassic World. Lowery Cruthers is the only employee that pays any attention to Vivian. He makes small talk, tries to impress her with tacky magic tricks, and interacts with her on a regular basis. Sometimes, Vivian enjoys their conversations. Other times, she wishes he would shut up and let her work. He has a tendency to prattle on and on about random subjects that are of no interest to her. He usually has an uncertain air about him, and Vivian wonders if there's something about her that makes him nervous. Whether or not that's the case, his awkwardness can be very frustrating.

Aside from Lowery, no one gives Vivian the time of day. Whenever she delivers forms or other important documents to the higher-ups, they pull them from her hands like she's a piece of furniture. They'll occasionally hand her their coffee too, expecting her to hold it while they get themselves organized. Vivian isn't too bothered by this, but it's sometimes difficult to get through the day without rolling her eyes.

On the other hand, being ignored is far better than being noticed. Especially when the one who's doing the noticing is Claire Dearing. The woman is like a hawk, circling around other people's workspaces until she is able to pinpoint and purge every weakness from the collective system. Whenever she's in the room, productivity rises to unnatural levels. The temperature also seems to drop by at least five degrees, but Vivian has no way of proving this for sure. In any case, Claire Dearing is a force to be reckoned with.

One day, Claire storms into work grumpier than usual. Taking this as a cue to keep a low profile, Vivian pretends to write something on a post-it note. She feels every muscle in her body tighten when Claire comes to a stop behind her. She turns around very slowly and smiles.

"Hi . . ."

"I need you to do me a favor."

Vivian gulps.

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to deliver a message to . . . someone."

"Owen Grady?"

As soon as the name slips past her lips, Vivian realizes that she's made a terrible mistake. To mention Owen Grady in front of Claire is akin to lighting a match in a fireworks factory. She stiffens immediately and shudders like a broken animatronic.

"Who's been talking behind my back?"

Lowery lifts his head.

"Not me!"

Claire wheels around to face him in a swift movement.

"What have you been saying?"

Lowery leans back in his chair.

"You must have misheard me. I very clearly stated that it _wasn't_ me. Unless you thought I was being sarcastic. Most people can't tell."

Claire's fingers are curling dangerously by her sides. Vivian is relieved that her attention has been diverted, but poor Lowery is about to get his ass handed to him.

"Don't spread rumors, Mr. Cruthers. I'm serious. If you choose to slander-"

"Relax! I'm not spreading any rumors," Lowery says with a suave calmness, "We all just assumed that you're going to tell him off for poking his nose here all the time."

Claire loosens up a little.

"I'm not. I don't appreciate him snooping around, but that's beside the point. I wanted to tell him that there was a mistake when we sent out the invitations for the mixer next weekend. He wasn't supposed to be invited."

The obvious response at this point would be to ask her why she couldn't tell him herself, but both Vivian and Lowery are wise enough to accept the fact that she has her reasons. Everyone knows that Claire hates Owen, but they've maintained a civil relationship ever since he visited her when she was in a coma. She probably doesn't want to give the impression that the cancellation of his invite was her idea, because that would seem petty. Vivian hates to get involved in these kinds of things, but since Claire asked her to do it . . .

"I'll tell him," she sighs, "I was planning on doing a bit of adventuring during my break anyway."

Claire nods.

"Thank you. Make sure you tell him that it wasn't my decision."

Ah. So the theory was correct.

As Claire walks away, Lowery rolls his chair closer to Vivian and hunches forward in a conspiratorial manner.

"This is perfect. Tell Grady that he's not invited, but Claire wants him to come anyway."

Vivian's jaw drops.

"No! Are you crazy?! I can't lie to him, and I _really_ don't want to be a part of this drama!"

"Remember when Claire made you work during Christmas?"

"How could I forget?" Vivian groans.

"Just consider this your revenge."

Vivian shrinks back nervously.

"She'll know it was me."

"Not if you say that you sent someone else to do it for you."

"I'll get in trouble."

"Won't it be worth it?" Lowery presses, "Claire's been a Grade-A bitch for ages. It's time for someone to put her in her place."

Vivian frowns.

"This is so immature . . ."

Lowery raises his eyebrow.

"Implying Claire and Owen's melodramatic relationship _isn't_?"

"Fair point," Vivian sighs.

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

Vivian thinks it through. It's a terrible idea: there's no doubt about that. Even so, Claire has been short-tempered as of late, and she often directs her anger towards Vivian and her friends. Maybe it would be therapeutic to sabotage her, if only to end the Owen-Games once and for all. In the end, everyone would get what they deserved.

The more she thinks about it, the more Vivian forgets how ludicrous the plan is. By lunch, she's fully convinced that it's the perfect crime.

She tries to ignore the twinge of guilt she feels when she sees how excited Owen is to hear that Claire might want him to attend the party after all.


	5. Adulthood

Whoever said that orange was a hard-to-wear color was one hundred percent wrong. Vivian is rocking her tangerine dress, and her matching earrings are practically screaming good taste. The excitement she feels is slightly tarnished by her guilt, however. Tonight is the big mixer, which means that the result of her little escapade will finally come to fruition.

The party is taking place in a fancy ballroom on the mainland. Vivian arrives early. She is not surprised to discover that Claire is already present. She's wearing a golden dress with an intricate pattern of sequins and beads. The outfit is so elegant that it almost seems like she's overcompensating for something. In any case, she looks alright.

Wanting to pass the time, Vivian risks engaging in conversation.

"Hi."

Claire gives a shaky smile.

"Hello."

"How's life?"

"Good. Kind of. I'm worried about this party."

Vivian blinks.

"Why?"

"Well, I don't know anyone here."

Vivian laughs.

"It's just people from work."

"I know."

Vivian's smile disappears. After a beat, she looks around.

"I'll bet people are gonna start showing up soon."

"Mhm."

"I'll go say hi to . . . the people."

She slips away, leaving Claire alone. Once the party gets going, Vivian forgets all about her and starts to enjoy herself. About an hour in, however, she notices Claire standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. This is infinitely puzzling. Why on Earth is she so shy all of a sudden? Vivian has seen her interacting with all kinds of clients, and never once has she looked so forlorn and insecure. Didn't she have anyone to-

Oh.

Vivian bites her lip. She's never had a reason to pity Claire before, but now, she's starting to understand her a little bit. She always assumed that Claire was taking her anger out on everyone because she was on a power trip, but maybe power is the only thing she knows. Not once has she ever mentioned her family at work. Maybe she doesn't even have one.

As Vivian makes her way over to keep her company, she is cut off by a man in casual attire. At first, she wonders why anyone would show up to a fancy party in such a crude outfit, but when she realizes who it is, everything becomes clear. She rushes forward to stop him, but it's too late. Claire has seen him. Her eyes go wide as he approaches her.

"May I have this dance?"

Claire stares at Owen, her mouth agape.

"Wh- What- Why are you here?"

Owen smiles.

"To ask you to dance, of course."

Claire's face pulls back into a sneer.

"You weren't invited."

Owen is taken aback by her comment.

"I thought you wanted me here."

Claire steps away as he reaches out for her.

"This is completely inappropriate!" she hisses, "You weren't supposed to come!"

Owen shakes his head.

"Your message was very clear."

Claire growls.

"You _idiot_! I can't believe you'd do this to me!"

Owen dons a look that seems neutral, but Vivian can tell that he's concealing something big. He nods slowly, maintaining eye contact with Claire.

"So, that's how it is, huh? I'm just a pawn in your stupid little game."

Claire exhales.

"What did you expect would happen?"

Owen turns around.

"It was stupid of me to think that you actually cared. You're not capable of caring about anyone."

Claire pauses before replying.

"I hate you."

"I shouldn't have expected anything more."

As Owen departs, Vivian turns around to avoid being noticed. It's easy to slip into the crowd. When she's distanced herself from Claire, she turns around and sighs. As she makes her way to the punch bowl, she bumps into Lowery. She frowns and pushes him to the side.

"I shouldn't have gotten involved."

The party continues without incident. Vivian mingles with her friends, though she feels guilty about what she has caused. Claire is nowhere to be seen. She probably left.

When Vivian slips into the washroom, however, she hears someone crying in one of the stalls. The voice quiets down, and Vivian makes her way to the sink awkwardly. She pumps the soap dispenser and rinses her hands. She turns to leave, but freezes in her tracks when Claire speaks.

"Vivian, is that you?"

Shit.

"Yes, it's me," she squeaks.

"Can you pass me some paper towel?"

Vivian tears off a few squares and hands them to Claire over the door, because the walls of the stall touch the ground. The papers disappear over the rim, pulled by an unseen hand. Claire sniffles pitifully.

"Thank you."

Vivian rubs her wrist awkwardly and looks over her shoulder at nothing in particular.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No."

"Okay. I'm going to go back to the party now."

"Mhm."

Vivian reaches for the door, but Claire interrupts her.

"Vivian, we're friends, right?"

Caught off guard by the question, Vivian blinks rapidly. Does Claire actually consider her a friend?

"Uh . . . Yeah. We're friends," she mutters.

"Good. I was worried that . . . I mean . . ."

She gives a shaky sigh.

"I'm sorry."

Vivian gulps.

"Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I've done everything wrong."

Vivian's nose twitches.

"Do you want to come out and talk?"

"I can't come out."

Vivian nods in understanding.

"I have mascara in my purse. I can fix you up so that no one will know-"

Vivian falls silent as Claire cackles bitterly.

"All the makeup in the world couldn't fix this. I'm a disaster."

"It's okay, Claire. I understand. I know what it feels like."

" _You have no idea what this feels like_!" Claire snaps.

There is a pause.

"I'm sorry," Claire whispers, "I'm just upset because . . ."

Vivian waits. Claire takes a deep breath.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Vivian gulps.

"Um . . . I'm really not good at that. Maybe you should ask someone else."

Claire is quiet for a moment.

"Okay. Don't tell anyone I was crying."

"I won't."

Vivian slips out of the bathroom quickly. She has a sneaking suspicion that Claire was about to tell her something important, but it's best not to think about it.

Being involved is just too difficult.


	6. Afterthoughts

Sunset on the acreage is always beautiful. Vivian stares out at the painted sky and lies down in the dry, warm grass. She wonders if Claire has sunsets as wonderful as this where she lives. It's very much possible. At any rate, she's probably just as happy as Vivian is right now.

With a gentle sigh, Vivian rolls onto her back. She spreads out her bare feet and feels the texture of the ground. The golden carpet that surrounds her smells sweet. Delicious, even. She's able to admit this to herself, unlike Claire, who still has some issues to resolve.

From across the meadow, Vivian's grandfather calls out to her, urging her to return to the stables. She sits up and starts walking over to the building, feeling the warm glow of the setting sun washing over her back. She has decided that the colors of the sky are all her favorites, because they are soft and charming in their simplicity. In fact, that's the word she'd use to describe her life right now. Simple. There's no pressure, no one telling her to carry out impossible tasks, and no worries whatsoever. It's perfect. Almost.

"But not quite."

Vivian turns in surprise. A woman is standing behind her. She smiles gently.

"You're very humble, you know."

Vivian blinks.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," the woman laughs, "It never occurs to you to be selfish. You're practically a saint."

"A saint?" Vivian echoes, "I don't think so. I'm just me. Nobody notices me, which is why I stay out of trouble."

"I'm sure more people notice you than you think," the woman says kindly, "And even if they don't notice you, that doesn't mean you've had no bearing on what came to pass."

Vivian shrugs.

"I may have helped a little bit. Not much. I got frustrated with Lowery-"

"We all have moments of weakness. What matters is what you did right. You helped Zara, and María as well."

"I couldn't save her."

"Nor could anyone else."

Vivian falls silent. After a moment, she looks down at her feet pensively.

"I'm happy this way."

"I know."

"Don't you find it strange?"

"Not really. I had something similar happen to me."

"You don't look- I mean- you're pretty normal, except for the . . ."

Vivian points to the woman's back. She smiles nostalgically.

"That's another story entirely. But this one is yours. Do you want to know a secret?"

"Okay . . ." Vivian says cautiously.

"When a person is good, even if they aren't often noticed, good things will happen to them eventually."

Vivian nods slowly.

"That's nice . . . What does it have to do with me?"

The woman smiles and begins to walk away.

"You'll see. All you need to know is that someone is about to wake up from a very long sleep."

Vivian doesn't understand what she means, at first. But she will.

Even though she is a secondary player in the game of life, she is still allowed to play.

That's good enough for her.

 **The End**


End file.
